


Lizard Brain

by hyperion



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperion/pseuds/hyperion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames impersonates Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lizard Brain

“Cobol wants you dead,” Eames proclaimed as he sat down and propped his feet on the table.

Arthur shoved them off and continued to sort his intel. “Not even a hello?”

“Hello, darling,” he said to Arthur before looking again to Cobb. “Cobol wants you dead and they’ve offered me the job.”

Eames had witnessed Cobb being chased and shot at by Cobol’s goons, so Cobb knew there must be a potentially dubious reason why Eames was informing him of Cobol’s intent like it was news. “Did you take the job?”

“Well, they did offer me money. Ah, Arthur love, don’t go reaching for your gun just yet. You’ll want to hear this.” Eames was reasonably certain that Arthur would do whatever he could to protect Cobb in a situation like this. Painfully wound Eames? Absolutely. Kill him if he actually tried to kill Cobb? Regretfully. He would feel just awful about it, Eames bet. He probably would not cry, but his dreams would be haunted by Eames’ ghost either sexing him up or hunting him down, and he would wake up aching either way.

“Hear what, exactly?” Arthur demanded.

Eames grinned like this was the most entertaining thing he had ever been a part of. “Cobol wants me to kidnap you,” he pointed to Cobb, “and pretend to be you,” he pointed to Arthur, “so I can skim all your secrets before I put a bullet in your head,” back to Cobb. “They think you might have some useful information about other people they’re interested in. It’s brilliant,” Eames crowed as if it were the punch line.

“They really think that they can flip my crew?” Cobb asked.

“Ah, but I’m not always part of your crew, am I?” Eames said darkly, leaning forward. “We know Ariadne would never even consider it, and Yusuf would practically wilt if they came to him. Saito respects you too much. Miles actually loves you. Arthur, well, he’s the most loyal puppy a boy can dream of – Ow!” he exclaimed when Arthur kicked him under the table. And that was their relationship: Eames bringing out Arthur’s baser instincts. When it was fight or flight, Arthur invariably fought. “That wasn’t an insult.”

“We both know you’ve done something to deserve it,” Arthur reasoned, and Eames conceded with a shrug.

“Anyway, I’m not always a member, you see? I’m an independent contractor, a gun for hire. If they pay me enough, I’ll do what they want.”

“So you’re going to kidnap me, plug me into the PASIV, somehow convince me that I am not dreaming and that you really are Arthur, and then kill me? You really think you can do that?”

Eames sat back, not quite smirking. “We’ll never have to find out, because I’m obviously not going to try.”

“They’ll send people to kill you too,” Arthur warned.

“Eh, they’ll have to get in the queue, won’t they?”

It was business as usual, it seemed, as the conversation quickly turned to the job that did not involve shooting Cobb.

***

Eames and Arthur were dreaming, testing Ariadne’s new maze for the next job. It was a great mockup, but Arthur was finding cracks that would alert the mark that he was dreaming and make his subconscious turn against them. Eames’ subconscious was currently filling Arthur’s dream, since Arthur knew the mark best through his research. Eames would not be impersonating anyone this time, but when Cobb mentioned that they needed Eames’ creativity with weapons at the discovery that the mark’s subconscious had been militarized, Arthur did not try to talk him out of it.

As they walked through the maze, Arthur noticed that Eames’ projections thinned until they were alone. Arthur turned to ask Eames about it, and he stopped short and glared at Eames, who was currently impersonating Arthur.

“Stop it.”

“I–”

“I don’t care why you look like that. I don’t want to talk about it. I want that off you right now.”

Arthur’s own face grinned back at him, dimples and all. “Oh, I can take it off,” his own voice seduced.

Arthur grabbed Eames by the lapels – at least Eames had had the good sense to copy Arthur’s suit too instead of trying to dress himself – and shoved him into the nearest wall. “Take it off,” he demanded, giving into his baser instincts once again.

“It’s just a joke, Arthur, relax.”

“It’s a violation,” he hissed. Eames had seen Arthur ruthlessly killing, but he had always looked rather calm about it. At most, he was wearing the frown of the intently focused, but not enraged like he seemed now. Arthur backed up just far enough to reach into the pocket of Eames’ waistcoat and pull out the little red die. Arthur held it in his open palm, judging its weight. He put his hand against his own pocket, feeling the sharp corner of his die through his vest.

The one in his hand was too heavy, but the one in his waistcoat was not his die either, not in a dream. “You son of a bitch,” he accused. “Did you touch it?”

“What?” Eames was surprised by the question.

“Did you touch my die? Did you touch it? When I was asleep, maybe? Did you go through my clothes just to find it, just so you could complete your forgery?”

Eames would cross nearly any line, but someone else’s totem was sacrosanct, and it _would_ be a violation of Arthur to pick up his. “Of course not, love. I’d never.”

Arthur dropped the die, his wrath draining out of him and taking everything else with it. He practically deflated before Eames’ eyes. “Let’s just go, okay? We’re done here.”

He turned to walk away, walk anywhere else until the dream was over, but Eames took him by the elbow and gently drew him back. “Hey, I didn’t mean…I just thought we’d have a bit of fun.”

“Fun? This is fun for you?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to all of Arthur that Eames was still wearing.

“Well, you know, most days it’s just a job, but today we can have fun.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow as if he were asking what kind of fun they could have.

“You know, the two of us all alone in here for at least another half hour, just you and me and,” he looked down at himself and then back at Arthur, raising his own eyebrow, “you.”

Arthur frowned at him, not appreciating the opportunity the way that Eames did. “Why would I want to have sex with myself?”

Eames shrugged carelessly. “Because you can. Because you’re gorgeous. Because everyone wonders at some point what it would be like.”

“No, I think that’s just you,” Arthur argued. He watched Eames bite his lip while he considered it – a gesture that was neither Eames nor Arthur, so Arthur decided that Eames was doing it on purpose to entice him into thinking about those lips.

“Really, you’ve never thought about it?” Eames asked.

“Never.”

Eames leaned forward into Arthur’s space, brown eyes locking, voice low, “Are you thinking about it now?”

“Son of a bitch,” Arthur complained softly, and Eames put his hands on Arthur’s hips and pulled him close before he could protest. Arthur was surprised by the kiss, because even though he knew that Eames was not himself, his body still expected Eames.

There was a moment before he opened his mouth up to Eames where he had a decision to make: He could stop this because it was patently ridiculous or he could continue it purely for its value as an experiment. He felt his own tongue against his lips and decided to experiment.

It was surprising how different his own body felt. He liked the softness of his close shave, but his lips were not quite as full as the lips he was used to kissing. Arthur would have been able to identify any of his past lovers and Eames by their kissing techniques and the feel of their mouths on his, but Eames was the best forger to be had and he had had plenty of time to study Arthur’s own technique. It was like kissing a stranger but with more familiarity, or kissing someone he had kissed while a little drunk and could not remember kissing until now.

Arthur wrapped one arm around his slim shoulders and put his other hand on his waist, feeling the small concave curve of it before his body flared out again to form his hip. Arthur was not self-conscious about his body. It was healthy, strong, and worked the way that it was supposed to. He never spent much time considering how attractive he was, but he knew he was handsome. However, he was now constantly comparing how Eames’ body should have felt to how Eames’ forgery felt, and it was making him insecure.

He pulled away from Eames and shook his head clear. “What is it, love?” Eames asked.

Arthur smiled. “You may look like me, dress like me, and kiss like me, but I know you too well, I know me too well. If you want to convince someone that you’re me, you’ll have to drop the endearments.”

“Noted.”

“I’ll need to make sure the rest of you is as it should be, you understand.” Back on track, Arthur quickly unknotted Eames’ tie and then unbuttoned his waistcoat. His shirt was next, and Arthur pushed everything aside to gaze at his smooth, tan chest. It was an exact copy, from the few hairs on his upper chest to the size of his pectoral muscles. Arthur dipped and dragged his teeth across his chest, drawing a groan from Eames as he scraped over a nipple and then down ribs as he moved lower.

“Do I really taste like this?” Arthur asked after he ran his tongue over his hip bone, and then he sucked a bruise onto it. Now that he finally stopped comparing what he had expected to what was right in front of him, Arthur was beginning to enjoy it. He could feel that wonderful tug in his gut as his desire built, like a kick but more urgent, as he hardened.

“I’ve catalogued everything about you in my head,” Eames explained, “even the way you taste, and I used all of my memories to reconstruct your body.”

“I’m sure that’s ill-advised,” Arthur reminded him.

Eames could only shrug as Arthur unbuckled his belt and opened up his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear. There was a line of hair marching down from his navel to his pubic hair, which framed his cock. Like the rest of Arthur’s body, it was a perfect recreation, and Arthur could not think about anything else but taking his own dick into his mouth. It was as if Eames had told him not to suck his cock and every thought in Arthur’s head was exactly that. Arthur was on his knees on a deserted sidewalk in a dream and he was desperate to know what it was like to swallow his own come.

Arthur rubbed his tongue against the blunt head of his cock. It was odd to be so intimately familiar with his body but to not know so much about it. At first, Arthur closed his eyes so he could concentrate on every other aspect of what he was doing, the taste and scent of himself, the way he felt on his own tongue, the sounds that Eames was making with Arthur’s vocal cords. Arthur was completely enthralled by his own body now, and an ache began to form between his legs as he grew more turned on by the second.

Eames was apparently feeling it too, because Arthur now had the flavor of his own pre-come in his mouth and Eames gasping above him. Sucking his own dick was probably one of the top three kinkiest things Arthur had ever been a part of, and he knew that opening his eyes and looking at Eames dressed in Arthur would make it that much more intense, but he could not resist looking up when Eames cried out and his hips rocked forward to push more of his cock into Arthur’s mouth.

What he saw was extraordinary: It was his neck that he saw stretched back, tendons taut. It was his stomach that was filling and hollowing with Eames’ breath. When Eames’ head lolled forward, it was Arthur’s face that looked down at him, mouth open, eyebrows pinched, and his thumb that brushed across his cheekbone. Arthur could see Eames edging closer to orgasm, and he suddenly wanted a mirror so they could both see how amazingly debauched this was, but the last thing he needed was Eames’ subconscious to attack.

When Eames came, Arthur’s mouth was filled with the familiar taste of come but it also carried Arthur’s own zest. He swallowed it down, wanting more, wanting to get himself off again and again. He pulled back when Eames grew soft, trying to decide if it was worth the risk to create a bed here on the street so he could sink himself deep into Eames, into his own body, or if he should just take Eames on the sidewalk.

Before he could decide, Eames was on his knees in front of Arthur, kissing him again, pulling them together again. “You really do taste like that,” Eames said when he stopped for a breath.

Arthur was about to respond but the tug in his gut was back, a real kick this time as gravity shifted. He instinctively clung to Eames like that would keep him from falling, but they were forced apart by the kick and Arthur awoke to his chair tumbled onto a soft mat and Eames’ blue eyes blinking open in front of him. He pushed himself up and carefully removed the PASIV line from his arm.

“What happened?” Arthur said, since he had been planning to come out of the dream naturally when the machine shut off.

Ariadne looked like she was incredibly amused and trying to hide it, and Cobb looked like he was frustrated but disbelieving. Neither offered any explanation, looking at each other and then looking back at the men on the floor.

“Okay,” Ariadne said finally, “So maybe one of you wants to test the maze with Cobb next time.”

“I’m not a babysitter,” Cobb protested. “Besides, I’m almost certain I know which one of them started it,” he said, looking at Eames’ pants and making plans to partner with Arthur for the next test run.

Arthur followed Cobb’s line of sight and noticed the large wet spot on the crotch of Eames’ pants, and his cheeks went red when he realized that the two of them had been on display for Cobb and Ariadne.

“Well, I’m going to go change into a new pair of pants,” Eames said, getting up casually like nothing unusual had happened.

Arthur had been embarrassed that his closest friends had known what he and Eames had dreamed together, but now Eames had him outraged. “You brought a second pair of pants today?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So you planned this?”

“Well, I am a professional forger, darling.”

The next time he had the opportunity to kill Eames in a dream, he was going to enjoy it.


End file.
